Rara Avis
by lisek16
Summary: (3/?)-->Sydney is given three days to say her goodbyes and to tie up loose ends before she has to abandon her old life. She revisits the past and finds that the memories still haunt her...R/R
1. What is a Rara Avis?

Title: Rara Avis  
  
Author: lisek16 (lisek16@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias that makes me sad. But the story is mine. The poem below (Hope is the thing w/ feathers) is Emily Dickinson. The lyrics to "La Habanera" can be found @ http://www.charlottechurchfans.com/music/enc3.html  
  
Archive: cd…anyone who wants it...just let me know  
  
Summary: What is a Rara Avis?   
  
Classification: if there is one…it has yet to be identified and clarified to me.   
  
Author's note: this story is a little different then what I usually write. I had an idea and I ran with it. I would like to thank Skye for all her help. Her ideas and thoughts were invaluable and I'm happy that she didn't question my sanity on some coincidences/ things she noted. In case you're wondering about the title. It's Latin, and thanks to dictionary.com and those handy dandy cut and paste buttons I can show you the definition in case you didn't know prior. In Latin It means rare bird…but in English everyday jargon (my comp's thesaurus tells me I can replace jargon with gobbledygook…that's an interesting word don't you think?) it means a rare or unique person or thing. Enjoy…Please R/R.  
  
*~*  
  
Hope is the thing with feathers  
That perches in the soul,  
And sings the tune without the words,  
And never stops at all,  
  
And sweetest in the gale is heard;  
And sore must be the storm  
That could abash the little bird  
That kept so many warm.  
  
I've heard it in the chillest land,  
And on the strangest sea;  
Yet, never, in extremity,  
It asked a crumb of me.  
  
----Emily Dickinson  
  
~*~  
  
Through rotting plated glass, a figure could be seen stirring in the dilapidated opera house. A quarter century ago, the house was at its prime. Massive shows attracted Hollywood's attention. Every night the performers played to a sold out theater. The theater's seats were well worn and crumbled now under the weight of the wind. The whimsical tunes that had echoed through the small town had caused fame to breeze through and lives to be changed. The stained glass mural was cracking, its color faded through rough winters and steamy summers. The masonry which was commended on by business moguls was rusting and the oak carved staircase was rotting. The house was in ruins, the magic that had accompanied the music had long passed. Memories and a stoic piano were all that remained. It was apparent to any Will, Michael or Jack that the house's hay day had long passed, but yet a figure was still dwelling in the decrepit building.   
  
Amongst the thick blanket of snow dotted with ice, a light from an upstairs office glimmered off the frozen white sea. Inside the vacant opera house, a young woman was humming the refrain from a popular opera that played twenty years prior. The tune was intoxicating and vaguely reminiscence of a time that had long passed; a simple innocence that had perished long ago.   
  
Why was she here? She still didn't know. Her employer, Arvin Sloane had given her the week off and she took it gladly. Time was something that she was constantly deprived of, with her job and school rarely allotting her much free time. She had planned to spend some time with Francie during her well needed hiatus but one thing led to another and she boarded the first plane to New Jersey.  
  
New Jersey held one of the few memories that she had which involved her mother, who had vanished before a real bond could form. It was hard to be in elementary school during those peppy mother's days and have to endure the room mothers' sympathetic gazes searing holes into the back of her head. No card making materials were placed before her because her life story was common knowledge, and thus she was forced to remain dormant during the festivities. It offered her a chance to observe her classmates and notice the fact that she was different from them in so many ways. For example, she had been the only girl who had no mother and this was known by all the other students in her classes. They treated her differently because of it and ultimately excluded her despite their scorched pity for her dearth.   
  
Her lack of school friends offered her an interest in the written word. She decided to entertain herself through reading as a school child, and by the 3rd grade she had easily completed Jane Eyre. It quickly became her favorite novel, until she continued to indulge her passion for reading and discovered there were millions of stories to become wrapped up in. Her teachers noticed her flare for literature at an early age and one instructor, Mrs. Perka, wrote "Sydney Bristow is an avid reader who continues to amaze me. You should be very proud of her and all of her accomplishments. She is a true Rara Avis."   
  
It was Mrs. Perka who grew to be a mother figure in her life. Daily suggestions of new books and innovative diction were not the only things that they shared. Visits to the local park even after Sydney graduated from middle school, enhanced their bond. Sydney had returned to meet with the one woman who was always there for her even after she graduated high school. She had offered Sydney the last ounce of push to want to be an English professor.   
  
Sydney had all the makings to become a memorable educator, because she had the passion to ignite flames in future students, but her father never pushed her. After she had flaunted the comment on her progress report by plastering it upon the refrigerator, it disappeared. Her father had told her that he didn't know what had happened to her prized possession, but she found it crinkled up in his garbage can. She salvaged it and it survived another 20 years with minimal damage. She assumed at the time that he didn't realize what he was doing. That he was being cold and heartless. Later, as she grew to learn more about herself and her mother; it was apparent that he was trying to slyly discourage her from following in her mother's footsteps.  
  
The moment Mrs. Perka referred to her as a Rara Avis or a rare bird as it was inscribed in Latin, she found herself relating to birds because she felt as caged as they were. Emily Dickinson, her favorite poet wrote the poem "Hope is the things with feathers", where a little bird survived all the elements and offered hope for the future. She was so much like that little bird that for years she believed the poem was about her.   
  
As she slipped back into present day reality, she realized that it was silly to return to New Jersey almost a quarter century later and see if the opera was a lie too. It was apparent that she never really knew the woman who bore her; the woman who took her to see "Carmen".   
  
As a child, when she was 5 to be exact, her mother and father had brought her to the Zuni Theater for her first opera. The trip had offered her the chance to hear French and become mesmerized by everything that the culture encompassed.  
  
"Carmen" was a beautiful opera and its enchanting melody "La Habanera" offered Sydney hope for the future. Its jaunty French lyrics described love in a new light that always intrigued Sydney despite the situations she found herself battling. It offered that love was a rebellious bird which was a concept that she knew all to well. Sydney was a rebellious bird too and soon enough she would be forced to take flight and fight for her freedom courtesy of mommy dearest.... 


	2. Where do you go when your running from y...

Title: Rara Avis (Part two)  
  
Author: lisek16 (lisek16@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias that makes me sad. But the story is mine.  
  
Classification: if there is one…it has yet to be identified and clarified to me.   
Author's note: I've been toying with this addition for roughly two weeks. I hope that you enjoy and that you'll continue to read and review. It is appreciated :) ~E  
  
~*~  
  
Mommy dearest was a far cry from June Cleaver though. She was a warm fuzzy memory and at the same time she was an unknown beast. A monster, who happened to coexist in the same body as the woman who taught her all the words in French to "Habanera". The loving mother she fondly used to remember was not the same woman who purposely vanished to be "The Man". They couldn't be the same woman. Sydney wouldn't allow them to intertwine in her complex mind. She had to keep two separate women in her thoughts. Her mom, the one she loved; the one who loved her too; The cookie baking-read me another bedtime story-love you forever mom was different from the "you have no choice" mistress of evil and deceit that she encountered in Taipei.   
  
She had spent almost a lifetime deceiving herself. She lied to herself, even though she had no idea what the truth encompass. She had protected herself by never doubting that her mother loved her…She had believed that her mother died because this was what G-d intended. She used to reflect on her mother as an angel with a smile of gold. But a month ago when she discovered the truth that changed. Her mother had appeared in her vague recollections to be a good person, which was after all based upon what everyone had always told her. Everyone being her father though. He had been deceived too…  
  
Laura Bristow…Irina Derevko…whatever her latest sobriquet was…was not a good person. The woman who ordered her tied up in Taipei was a fiend. She offered Sydney 3 days to decide, 3 days to go back to Los Angeles and say her Good byes.   
  
She asked Sloane for the days off, knowing they'd be her last. Actually he offered them to her; he could see the black circles which had been embedded under her eyes. He could see the misery which was causing her skin to wither and peel. He could easily see how the job was slowly killing her. Day by day…mission after mission. This life was getting to be too much. He offered her a well needed vacation. He offered her a chance not really to decide her fate or her mother's offer but to come to terms with what her future would hold.  
  
It wasn't a difficult decision. After all she wasn't stupid. She might have once been a Rara Avis…something unusual, something rare…but in all actuality she was just a girl living in a heartless world; knowing that she couldn't let her friends suffer…  
  
She wasn't rare. She was far from unique. She was just a by product of evil and there were many of those lying around. Soon enough she would be working for a greater evil. When she agreed to work for SD-6 she was blind to the fact that they were not a black ops division of The CIA. She knew what she was getting herself into here though. This was an agency, an organization that reeked of impurity and immorality.  
  
Her demand was high though. Everyone wanted her. They wanted her and planned to use her up and throw her away; to step on her a few times and disregard her like a rotten banana. Sydney refused to be a banana though. She wanted to be a bird. She wanted her freedom. But instead like a caged bird she was unable to escape. She was forced to play a part in the ridiculous game that these people in her life played… to play the game…and ultimately lose…  
  
The game was simple as her mother had laid out all the cards. After her mother's planned monologue about not wanting to abandon her daughter, she proceeded to the truth. She wanted Sydney. She wanted Sydney, and wanted to use her training and knowledge to help her and her cohorts. The woman who bore her, plainly said "either you agree to my terms or you shall meet your destiny"  
  
Destiny was a funny thing. True love; love at first sight…things like that left Sydney bewildered. That was what destiny had always meant to Sydney. It was synonymous with love and windows of opportunity. She had loved in the past. She had seen love, but she didn't trust it. It took her such a long time to admit the truth to anyone that the distance and the facades that she plastered up kept her from love. Honesty was a dangerous thing; sometimes more lethal than a gun or a swift kick. Honesty is what caused her fiancé Danny to be murdered. Honesty was what caused trouble to escalate. They say that sometimes the truth hurts, but Sydney had more than her fair share of such misery and anguish.  
  
As she relinquished her grip on her memories of the past and personal opinions of life's conundrums, she faded back to the opera house in New Jersey. The cold entering from thin worn windows caused her skin to slightly pucker and perhaps the wave of snow in mid may was mimicking a reflection of the rough turns her life had taken. She allowed her chilled nimble fingers to dance upon the chestnut music box that was perched upon the old metal rickety desk. She silently swore because she should have brought warmer clothes. The gray tee shirt and loose blue pants were comfortable for a mild spring but were not adequate for a heavy winter storm. She had worn less in severer conditions though. Usually she was forced to wear far less for work-related missions and was used to the numbness that followed the cold which nipped her pale skin. She attempted to open the box of musical novelties but it slid of the desk and crashed to the floor. It was useless to attempt to pick it up.   
  
The box would be cremated sooner or later. No one was coming to reclaim it, because in less then two days time the building would be demolished, if it didn't fall down voluntarily first. The same went for herself. In about two days time the old Sydney would be nonexistent; A faded memory of a girl who once lived. No one was coming to reclaim her and welcome her back into The living word. The truth was, since Taipei she was living but barely living. She was breathing but dying more and more inside.   
  
The newspaper that she had picked up had stated the fact bluntly; 'Building to be demolished' was the heading which sparked a further interest in the house. It was more than walls and windows. It was a resting place for forgotten memories, and memories set aside for another day's time. The things this building must have seen must be unimaginable, but they couldn't be compared to the visions which penetrated her stone cold, icy glare.   
  
She had watched people die. She had watched people writhe in pain. She had killed a man which her bare hands; a man who cared for her. She had reeled in pain and felt trapped every day. She watched as the music box lay dormant on the floor. Her eyes trailed up the wood paneling which held discolored framed photographs from the prosperous era of the home. Photos of movie stars shaking hands with ordinary people weren't detected as one might have suspected. Instead such pictures were replaced with smiling audiences and assemblies of happy school children. When fame and fortune had consumed the community, the house itself and its principles were unyielding and left intact. Sydney easily found refugee in the concept of the never changing principles.   
  
One picture in particular stood out though. It was the type of picture that Mrs. Perka would have pointed out. It held an allure over the others. There was a young girl sitting on the lap of her father, while her mother looked at her daughter's happy expression and her reaction to what appeared to be her first opera. Sydney wished that that could be her family situation. But it wasn't because in her life, memories such as that were based upon lies. She was positive that her father still didn't share every ounce of truth with her, but she found shelter in the comfort that she received from Michael Vaughn.  
  
He understood her in a way that she found hard to fathom. Her eyes lit up as her co-worker, her liaison for the good guys saved the day time after time. He had risked his life for her. He had stuck his neck out on the line for her and she never really thanked him. A meaningless utterance of the two words wasn't enough. Neither was the job promotion that he had received based upon her manipulation of a serious situation. He was one of the few people who was always there for her, but she, in the end had to push him away to keep him safe. It was one of the conditions that her mother and herself had agreed upon.  
  
In order to ensure his safety, she had to distance herself from him. Before she left Los Angeles, a phone call had come in. "Joey's pizza?" a familiar voice questioned in a smooth confident tone. Her relief that he was truly alive was internal. She dully replied, "Sorry Wrong number" Inside she screamed, "I'll miss you….I love you!" She didn't meet him in the warehouse though. She didn't attempt to contact him. She thought about writing a note but the peril would have been heightened. So she simply packed her duffel bag and boarded a flight. She hoped by leaving without saying good bye, that by time he realized where she was and what her destiny would be that she would already be a carbon copy of herself…  
  
She prayed that he'd leave well enough alone, but Michael Vaughn wasn't the type of person to give up, he'd search for her. That's another reason that she fled to New Jersey. Not just because it held memories that needed to be sorted out, but because it was remote and no one knew. She was safe to break down and it was safer to forget.  
  
She needed to flush years of memories down the drain in order to live the life her mother planned for her. The life didn't include friends, nor fun. It offered her friends their freedom and safety in exchange for her life. A life that had been used by everyone, she had grown into a person who could be bought and sold. Used and abused.   
  
It seemed almost impossible that almost 20 years ago she was a "Rara Avis" who was filled with life and passion. The flames of zeal had passed though. She was still a commodity. She was still rare, but more of an asset to various agencies afflicted with the trade of espionage. She felted quite gauche to be thrown into this life. Her sole refuge from everyone, including the man she loved, was hidden in the paint-peeling decaying home to the arts.   
  
She paced around the room once more. She kicked at the wall and the photograph that she had admired fell to its demise as the glass cracked. As the frame shifted a caption was exposed. Before she had a chance to look at the caption which peered up in front of her beneath cracked glass she heard the sound of a soft pitter patter of shoes that she knew all too well…  
  
She turned away so that she didn't face to door. She couldn't bear to see his face filled with confusion. He'd ask her 'why?' he'd explain how he could help fabricate a plan to save her…he'd offer her false hope and she didn't need that. She heard the creaking of the old door and a lapse of time.  
  
It felt as if an eternity had passed. Finally he uttered her name "Sydney?" his voice questioned as he moved closer to her. She winced as his hand brushed against her shoulder. He was prompting her to turn around, to face him and her future. "Don't…touch…me" she croaked out. It was obvious to him that she had been crying. He tried again. His touch was gentle and reassuring but she wasn't responsive to such tenderness…  
  
"Don't touch me" she screamed as she felt her body tighten as she tried to pull away. She shrugged her shoulder away from him and remained unresponsive. She couldn't break this façade. Soon enough she'd be unattainable and if she allowed herself to crumble into his arms she was positive that she wouldn't be able to rebuild and go on.  
  
"It's ok" she heard him say. "I'm here…everything will be fine" that was the last straw. Obviously her body language wasn't expressive enough. She had flown over 3 thousand miles to an out-of-the-way hideaway to escape him and he didn't get the picture. She physically pulled away and he didn't have a clue. Maybe he needed verbal rejection.  
  
"No." she hoarsely said. "Everything will not be fine."  
  
"Syd…if you just tell me what's wrong…."  
  
"I can't do that" she replied in a short choppy voice. It was a tell tale sign that she was hiding something. It was something that if she wouldn't have done but in the present situation that she was in, it didn't seem to matter much…  
  
"I think you can…"  
  
"You need to leave"  
  
"What before you say something you are going to regret? I can help you…you need to trust me on this Syd. Whatever you're running from…..you know it's going to catch up to you…"  
  
"What if I'm running from myself?" stupid question.  
  
"Then we'll …."  
  
"you need to leave…"  
  
"you said that already…  
  
"then maybe you should listen"  
  
"just tell me that you're okay…Look me straight in the eye and tell me that nothing is wrong…if you can do that then maybe I'll believe you. But you are not giving me much justification on that. You run from L.A. the minute that you get back. You ignore my calls and you attempt to vanish. You can't even control yourself. I'm positive that everything is not okay…so just clue me in…"  
  
TBC 


	3. “Do you want to know what happened in Ta...

Title: Rara Avis (3/?)  
  
Author: Lisek16 (lisek16@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. I simply take the well developed characters and write about them. Nothing illegal about that :)  
  
Author's note: This addition was easier than the previous chapter because my brain clicked into action. I guess the lack of dialogue in the two previous chapters was saved for chapter three ad future installments. As usual, I enjoy feedback. So please R/R and make my day : )  
  
~*~  
  
"I used to think that there was a shred of decency left in the world…I actually thought that humanity was fundamentally good…" Sydney's unsteady voice trailed off. Her eyes searched his for answers that neither of them knew. He tried to comfort her, thinking that this was about memories that had resurfaced. After all she had seen heinous atrocities and was forced to gather herself and go on. It was crazy to think that after 7 years of them building up that she wouldn't fall apart once.  
  
"I don't think the world is completely corrupt. I think there still are good people out there. I like to think that we are among them and that that we protect them. We work for the good guys after all…" his voice lowered as hers interjected. "No." a simple word uttered with a tremendous amount of disgust trailing it. It was obvious that she didn't want to hear this because in part it wasn't a valid response to what she was really thinking about. There was something else on her mind. There was something haunting her, and without letting him in, she was creating a wall that he could never climb. The distance was growing and stupidity overcame him. She must have come to this hideaway because she needed a break, he thought. She didn't need him barging in and reminded her of what she wanted to disappear from. She deserved a break from the stress and responsibilities that consumed every waking moment of her existence.   
  
He darted his eyes from her icy glare that had overcome her previously curious pupils. He peered out the bay window and noted a full moon. It took her a moment to reconsider her actions and her tone. She slithered over to the window seat which was flanked between the beams of the bay window. She sat down and ascended her head so that she could see the dark shadows prancing over his face. "I'm sorry" he stated. His vivid voice had decreased into a monotone drone. "I'm sorry, I disturbed you…I'm sorry I followed you to New Jersey…you know what…I'm sorry I cared enough to find out what the hell was going on in your head!" He yelled forcefully. The realness in his voice cut through her defensive façade. She was startled and a confused frown had slowly formed on her face. "I don't need this!" she said.   
  
"Neither do I!" he retorted as he pulled away from the window and attempted to leave. "Vaughn" her voice was still cold but at least there was feeling behind her words. Wasn't she doing this for him? Wasn't her disappearing act supposed to rid her of participating in said awkward situations? He had confronted her and forced her to step up to the plate. Would she accept the challenge or recede?  
  
"Sydney. I'm not going to sit here and listen to you complain about how humanity doesn't exist. I'm not going to stay to see you fade away. I don't know what the hell happened to you in Taipei, but I'm willing to listen…" he posed this as an ultimatum. She didn't respond nor flinch. She remained at the windowsill and he remained in the middle of the room. The ball was in fair play. "I…just…Leave me alone…" she replied in a meek voice. Avoidance always worked best in these situations. It was stupid to think that he wouldn't follow her to New Jersey. It was even stupider to think he wouldn't notice the distance that she was putting in front of them. Besides for being an attractive colleague, he was a man with keen instincts; not that it wasn't blatantly obvious that something was wrong.  
  
Her eyes had glazed over, their twinkled shine had receded, the black circles that formed under her eyes were unable to be hid under pounds of concealer and her skin was a putrid shade of gray. Fear and pain had penetrated through her world.   
  
He gave her one last chance, "Tell me, about what happened…" He couldn't understand why she wasn't being upfront. Sydney Bristow notoriously was honest about how she felt about things, especially in respect to Vaughn. What could she be hiding; he wanted to focus all his energy on discovering why she wasn't rejoicing.  
  
Why wouldn't he leave it alone? She wondered. "It's not what you think" she wanted to say. She wanted to be embraced by him and feel as though her whole world wasn't going to come to a screeching halt in 48 hours. "You can run to any corner of the earth, Sydney, but I will find you when your three days are up and you will fulfill your end of our compromise." It wasn't as if this was a compromise. Sydney's life wasn't threatened, her friends were. She had to serve Satan to offer them protection. She wasn't even sure she could trust her.  
  
This was all she could do. Listen, follow orders and go on. She had done it a thousand times for Sloane. At least then she had been blind to the truth. She thought despite her sacrifices, someone such as the 10 year old brownie was benefiting. Here…there as no comparison. Her tone lighten, "I'm glad you're alright….but you shouldn't be here" He deserved to be treated with respect despite the turmoil pulsating through her lithe body. She had become an emotional Roller coaster…a train wreck waiting to happen.   
  
She had let her emotions control her. "Sydney…I wasn't trailed." She wanted to smile at the sound of the reassurance in his voice. How he could offer her false hope was a mystery. With all her strength she offered a weak smile and continued her Charade. He tried again. "Do you wan to know what happened in Taipei?" he asked gently. She almost burst into tears. He had almost drowned. *Almost* being the key word. Her mother had caught him trying to escape through the ducts. She had tied his unconscious soaked body in a chair next to Sydney's. A guard had a cocked his gun above his left temple and her mother asked her to reconsider her offer. She had fought back any instinct to reach out to him; she forced herself to remain dormant and nodded her head. "Say it!" her mother's voice echoed through her head "I will…" she mumbled. "I can not hear you…Gustav!" she mused as she motioned to the guard to cause Vaughn even more discomfort. "I WILL" she enunciated. "Will what??" her mother taunted. "I will return in three days. You won't hurt them…" she had said. "Do as I say and your friends….will remain safe. Disobey me and the authorities will need dental records to attempt to identify them..."  
  
"In Taipei…" his voice cut through her memory. He had been shipped back to the alley, or somewhere public. He was found, or extracted, those details were fuzzy but the paralyzing fear of his life in danger would haunt her forevermore. "I swam to safety. I was lucky." He said. He was luckier not to remember. He wasn't coherent to see her mother. He wasn't awake to see Sydney broken, agreeing to demands instead of setting them. She never played the part of the victim well….she saw his green eyes flash as he quietly asked "What happened to you?"  
  
If only he could know, but she couldn't risk that exposure. She had written Will and Francie a note. About how she had lost herself this last few months. She was going trekking in Nepal, if she returned, she'd contact them. They were not to worry or attempt to find her…it was a feeble attempt at a lie. She couldn't try to make it more believable because things had become unbearable hard.  
  
"I'm fine…" she mumbled. "Please!" he rolled his eyes as he uttered the simple word. Her tough girl façade was worthless… "I'm a little shaken" she muttered, "I came here because I wanted a break" she tried to tell him the truth…with as little detail as possible.  
  
TBC 


End file.
